Category: The Heist

“It is you,” he said. I didn’t know what to do. “Do you know who I am?” he asked. “Uh, yes sir,” I said. “I have a lot of respect for you, and if you could just let me explain—” “No, no. That’s not what I meant.” He peered at me. “You’ve been there recently, haven’t... Continue Reading →

I flew backward, or downward, in a freefall, and then came to a thudding halt. The light was gone, and so were the two crowds. I was on my bed in the apartment, my arms and legs thrashing about. Rory was trying to restrain me, and yelling at me to wake up. When I realised... Continue Reading →

Above and beyond us was darkness—infinite darkness like a starless night. It was somehow clear, and perfect, visible through that murky darkness in which I stood. In the distance, much further than any horizon on earth, there appeared a tall, thin column of light. Seeing as it was so far away, I can’t imagine how... Continue Reading →

After what seemed like hours, and yet mere moments, the separation of the immense crowd was complete. There now stood two camps, and the difference between them became clear. Far away to my left was the gathering of those people called out from the original crowd. It was greater than I can say. Even though... Continue Reading →

Through the night something happened. I experienced something kind of like a dream. That is a miserably insufficient way to categorise it, but I don’t know what else I might call it. I went somewhere; I know I did, I’m just not sure if it happened in the physical sense. To convey what happened with... Continue Reading →

A few days after I returned from China we went for the big score. It was a quiet Wednesday morning at the Museum, perfect for stealing a painting. At our apartment we readied our popes, getting them into their papal robes then putting a large overcoat and hat on each of them. That way, their... Continue Reading →

The Museum of Modern Art, like most museums, employed state of the art security measures. But like most museums it also had a weakness for tradition, and there was one particular tradition that Rory and I could exploit. The Dead Pontiff Protocol dates back a good two hundred years or so, and though the exact... Continue Reading →

Rory woke up around seven and came in to examine the previous day’s work. With unbridled excitement I explained that he had just replicated a van Gogh painting—a ridiculously expensive van Gogh painting! Rory was unmoved by this, and only wanted to know if he could still paint a portrait of Gus Logie over the... Continue Reading →

"Hey man," I said. "Taking a break?" "Oh, no," he replied. "It's done." "Seriously?" "Yeah," he said, getting up from the couch. "Let me show you." He led me into his workroom and showed me what he had produced. "I give you… Family Picnic by the Bay," he said with great satisfaction. I took one... Continue Reading →